Free Only the Thunder Knows_East End Girls by Rena Mason Gord Rollo Page B

nearly as taxing on
the exhausted men as the prolonged mental stress of not dropping or damaging
the statue was. The pressure of having not only Black supervising their every
move, but also half the city council who were slowly gathering as the sculpture
got closer to completion, was intense and at times nearly overwhelming. Any
other day, on any other job, William and Billy would have walked away and quit
without a second look back but both men knew leaving wasn’t an option so they
kept their mouths shut and worked harder than either lazy man had worked in his
life.
    At
least they’d had help.
    The
scaffolding Black rented had indeed been waiting for them, fully assembled and
miraculously built in the proper place for them to get straight to work. William
still hadn’t held out much hope they could construct a large statue in one day
but waiting beside the scaffolding, block and tackle equipment in hand, had
been a tall muscular man in a wool pea coat and white captain’s hat. Something
had been familiar about him but neither Billy nor he had been able to place him
until Black introduced the man as Nicholas Garfield, the friend of his from
America who’d unloaded the original crates of stone from his Yankee Clipper
steamship onto the docks for them.
    Mr.
Garfield hadn’t been much of a conversationalist. In fact, he barely said a
word other than muttering obscenities to urge Burke and Hare to hurry up
several times; but what he lacked in small talk he’d more than made up for in
sheer brute strength. Blocks of stone that Billy could barely push an inch
along the grass, Garfield moved with one huge calloused hand as if it were a
child’s play toy. William could remember wondering how one man could have
possibly unloaded Black’s crates that fog-shrouded night they’d first met, but
after watching the strongman work throughout the day he would never doubt him
again; and nor would he ever want to cross paths with the American in a less
agreeable situation. The man was a walking monstrosity, a physical freak of
nature and William wondered who some of Black’s other friends might be, but
quickly decided he’d rather not know – and definitely didn’t want to meet any
of them.
    The
less he knew about his employer and his social circle, the better.
    The
hours passed. By hook or by crook, by brute strength or incredible skill, by
stubborn hard work or perhaps simply good luck the statue slowly took shape. Black
himself took charge near the end for the finishing touches; disappearing with a
wire brush and a bucket of some awful smelling liquid beneath the massive tarp
he’d had them conceal the sculpture within to hide the finished product from
the gathering crowd’s eyes. He was out of sight for over half an hour, but just
as the last of the sun’s rays were fading in the coal-polluted western sky
Black appeared with an empty bucket and a huge smile on his sweaty face.
    His
statue was finished.
    Burke
and Hare were grinning nearly as much as the sculptor, never being more
thankful that a day’s work was finally over. They moved off to the side and happily
stayed out of the way as Black quickly cleaned himself up and then launched
into a brief but passionate speech about his sculpture.
    “History
remembers how King Robert made his last stand against the English hordes
outside the nearby town of Bannockburn, June the twenty-fourth, in the year of
our Lord thirteen hundred and fourteen, but what many Scots don’t recall was
that many of those brave souls who died defending the flag that day came from
Edinburgh and their bodies were brought back and buried right here in Calton
Cemetery.”
    There
was a smattering of applause, and then Black continued.
    “It’s
my fervent hope that this statue remain in this hallowed place for hundreds of
years, reminding all who stand in the Bruce’s mighty shadow exactly how high a
price this nation paid for its independence and the brave men and women of this
great city paid for